


Useless Part, This Useless Heart

by AsexualArchivist



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canon Asexual Character, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Aphobia, M/M, No actual sex but they get naked and stuff just a warning, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Someone love him, aka: me projecting myself onto Jon so fucking hard, idk what season this takes place in you decide, not graphic though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 03:45:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsexualArchivist/pseuds/AsexualArchivist
Summary: “Jon hated himself. Always had, really.He’s not sure when he first realized it; maybe it was Mr. Spider’s influence, reminding him whenever he closed his eyes that he should be dead instead of that bully. But Jon knew deep down it was more than that, that he would have come to this conclusions sooner or later with or without the influence of Jurgen Leitner.”Aka, me projecting my sadness onto Jon bc I love him





	Useless Part, This Useless Heart

**Author's Note:**

> So this one gets a little deep and a little sad. theres a little talk of self harm, and a lot of talk about self hatred.
> 
> But it turns out well in the end, so... happy pride month... ?
> 
> Content warnings:  
> \- self-harm  
> \- Jon trying to make himself have sex when he doesn’t want to

Jon hated himself. Always had, really.

He’s not sure when he first realized it; maybe it was Mr. Spider’s influence, reminding him whenever he closed his eyes that he should be dead instead of that bully. But Jon knew deep down it was more than that, that he would have come to this conclusions sooner or later with or without the influence of Jurgen Leitner. 

He never had many friends in school. Jon knew, of course, that it was his fault; he was unpleasant to be around, his grandmother made that quite clear by the way she shut herself up in her room to avoid him whenever she got the chance. It had stung, at first, but Jon soon let the self-hatred settle in the pit of his stomach, let it turn numb inside him until he couldn’t feel anything anymore.

He hated himself. He deserved that hate.

When he was twelve, he snuck a kitchen knife into his room. He needn’t have bothered with secrecy, he soon learned, but at the time his mind whirled with the fear of his grandmother finding out.

The first cut wasn’t deep, not even deep enough to draw blood, and that made Jon hate himself even more for how weak he was. It sliced across his forearm, just barely splitting the first layer of skin.

The second cut was deeper.

It hurt, but the hurt was real, and it felt like something he had chosen for himself. It made him proud, and the hurt became a kind of comfort.

A kind of addiction.

His grandmother never said anything about the scars he had started collecting, even when they became too obvious to ignore. Jon thanked her for it, though he knew it wasn’t for his benefit.

Eventually, he left. He didn’t see his grandmother again until the day she died, and she didn’t seem to want him there even then.

University was better, in a way. He had some friends. He had- Georgie. 

Georgie was too good for him. Her laugh settled in his mind and floated there, pulling him up out of the fog he was in and bringing a soft smile to his face when he didn’t think he had one to offer her.

Jon loved her; he did, truly. He loved the way she kissed him, the smile he felt press against his own as they lay sprawled on her flat’s couch. She traced his scars and told him that she loved him. She didn’t mind. She worried. Georgie worried about him. Jon couldn’t remember that happening before.

So when she pulled on his hand and led him to her bedroom, Jon didn’t mind at all. Georgie undressed him, and his clumsy hands returned her motions. Her skin was soft.

It felt so wrong.

It was wrong. He couldn’t. His breathing picked up and forced its way loudly from his mouth. Jon felt his chest constrict as he looked at Georgie, her nakedness. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. He couldn’t-

“Jon, stop, please!” She pleaded, holding onto his hands. They were shaking. How long had he been shaking?

“I’m sorry...” he muttered, mind somewhere far outside his body. He looked at Georgie and her face was blurred, shifting, frowning.

Jon had failed.

“We don’t have to, Jon, just-“ she sighed, frustrated. “Tell me when you’re feeling uncomfortable. Okay? You- you’re scared, Jon. I don’t want to make you scared.”

Jon nodded mutely. _Failure_ , his mind whispered.

When she wasn’t looking, Jon added another scar to his collection.

They tried again, of course, and every time Jon failed. His heart pounded out of his chest and his hearing faded to a buzz in the back of his skull. Georgie stopped them every time, with increasing worry and frustration. 

Every time Jon hated himself more. Hurt himself more. 

“Jon, you have to talk to me!” She shouted at him finally. “I don’t know what’s wrong, you have to let me know what I’m doing wrong.”

Jon tried. He tried so, _so_ hard to capture the feeling of dread deep in his gut, lay it out for Georgie to see. But he couldn’t.

“I- I don’t know,” he muttered helplessly, nails digging into his forearms almost deep enough to draw blood. “I don’t know what’s _wrong_ with me!”

They stopped trying, after that, and Jon hated himself for how relieved he was.

Eventually they broke up; Jon knew it was his fault. It wasn’t the sex, Georgie assured him, it was the communication. He always closed himself off, never let her know what was wrong, and she couldn’t do it anymore.

“Take care of yourself, Jon,” she said, hand on his shoulder. Worry was evident in her every feature. “Don’t-“ she sighed, flicked a glance towards his crossed arms. “Well. Just. Be safe, alright?”

Jon felt relief and fear and terrible, terrible loss all rolled up into one. He couldn’t control his hands as they shook with the razor in them, trying to feel something that made sense.

This hurt made sense. The blood made sense. He knew what this feeling was, could control it. 

He missed Georgie.

Jon got a job at the Institute right out of university, and he threw himself into his work to avoid thinking about his loneliness too much. The work was interesting, and took over his mind enough that it was easy to forgot he still kept a razor in his flat’s bathroom.

The work was enough to distract him. Most days.

No one at work mentioned the scars, probably because Jon never really talked to them at all. He kept his head down, did his work diligently. 

When Elias offered him the Head Archivist job, he was... confused, of course. He wasn’t qualified. But he accepted anyway, because he was curious, and because work was the only thing he really did anymore. 

Jon found himself liking his assistants, to some degree. And, for some reason, Martin took a liking to him. He made him tea, he checked on him.

It made Jon feel... strange. Confused, or angry, or... lonely. 

Martin smiled at him with eyes that lit up the whole room. Jon frowned back.

Why did he keep smiling?

As things at the Archives... progressed, Jon found himself thinking about Martin more and more. He confused him, but there was another feeling, one he couldn’t identify... Jon pushed it down to the numb place inside his stomach, avoiding it entirely.

So when Martin confesses to him, Jon didn’t have any response. He didn’t even know what he felt, but Martin’s hopeful eyes looking up at him pulled his heart painfully.

He remembered this feeling; Georgie made him feel like this, when she laughed.

And Jon was lonely.

“Let’s...” Jon took a deep breath, and smiled, the motion feeling alien to him. “Let’s try it.”

And just like that, he and Martin were dating. And Jon smiled more, and felt happier than he had in years. 

Martin kissed him softly and gently, and Jon was happy. Martin trailed his lips across his scars, muttering about how beautiful he was.

“I love you, okay? Don’t forget,” he stammered, touching the scars with a sudden fear that drained Jon in a way that scared him to admit. He nodded mutely, grabbing Martin’s hand and bringing it softly to his mouth.

But then, the question Jon had feared finally came.

“Do you...” Martin muttered from his place curled up next to Jon. “Do you wanna go to the bedroom?”

Jon knew what he meant, and the terror he felt nearly knocked him sideways. He let it fall down into numbness, though, and followed Martin to his bed.

Soon their clothes were off, and the way Martin looked at him made the terror fade, just for a second. But then Martin’s hands were on him, and the dread came back full force.

“Jon?”

His hands were shaking. He berated himself for being weak again.

“Keep going,” he grit out through clenched teeth. _Let’s get this over with._

“No, Jon, you’re scaring me,” Martin replied, pulling away. “What’s wrong?”

Oh, God. Not again. He couldn’t do this again.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, grabbing for Martin’s hands. “I can’t do this.”

Martin looked at him with wide, scared eyes. “What?”

“The- the-“ Jon felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and startled; he couldn’t remember the last time he cried. “The sex. I- can’t do it.”

Martin paused. “Do you...” he took a breath, steadying himself. “You don’t want to be with me?”

“No, that’s not-“ Jon wanted to scream. He was doing this all wrong. He was going to fuck it up again, just like with Georgie. “Martin- I love you.”

A flush came over Martin’s face, but confusion overcame it. “Then-“

“I don’t want to have sex. Ever. With- anyone.” Jon looked away. He hadn’t ever admitted that to himself, and he felt as if a part of himself had been violently wrenched away from him.

“Oh.” Martin didn’t look scared anymore; in fact, he looked relieved. “You’re asexual.”

Now it was Jon’s turn to look confused. “What?”

“You’re asexual,” Martin repeated. “At least, I’m assuming. That’s what it sounds like.”

Jon stared at him. “There’s... there’s a word for it?” Was Jon- were there other people who felt like this?

Martin laughed, but he looked so sad. “Yes, there’s a word for it. You don’t have to deal with this yourself, you know.”

“It’s not me...” Jon muttered. “I’m not- I’m not- wrong?” It came out like a question. Martin wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled his head into his neck.

“You’re not wrong.”

And just like that, the numbness in Jon’s stomach broke like a dam. “I’m asexual,” he sobbed, with relief or loss, he didn’t know. “I’m asexual.”

The evening saw Jon sobbing his eye out into Martin’s shoulder, clutching him like a lifeline.

When he was done, he felt better than he had felt in years. Maybe ever. 

“Thank you,” he told Martin, his voice breaking as he clutched him tighter.

“I love you,” Martin replied simply, rubbing small circles in Jon’s back.

Jon smiled, watery and huge. “I love you too.”

Jon had never been so happy.

Later that night, while Martin was fast asleep, Jon disentangled himself from the other man’s grasp and creeped to the bathroom.

The razor was still there, of course. Jon felt the pull deep in his chest, desperate for the kind of hurt that made sense when nothing else did. He ignored it.

“I don’t need you anymore.” He did. He desperately needed it, the dots of blood appearing on his skin in the blade’s wake. He _needed_ it.

Then he thought of the look on Martin’s face when he told him he loved him.

He didn’t need this anymore.

He carefully wrapped it in a wad of paper towels, taped it together, and threw it in the bin. Then he took out the trash.

Jon felt lighter as he curled back up next to Martin. He felt- good. A smile crossed his lips, a real, true smile, as he drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The ace stuff and the self harm stuff are from my own experience. 
> 
> I love ace Jon it makes me incredibly happy that we have a canon asexual character ❤️❤️
> 
> Anyway if you wanna hmu I’m at [asexualarchivist](%E2%80%9Casexualarchivist.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


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